


Brand New Key

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-14
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 14:46:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1082259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchesters run a grocery shop out of a roadside shack. Across the road, the Novaks manage a high-class bridal wear boutique. They hate each other.</p><p>Then Dean and Cas meet.</p><p>Maybe it'll be like Romeo and Juliet, but they're hoping for less death and more happy endings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In fair Verona...

**Author's Note:**

> Filled for a [prompt](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/73050.html?thread=25424730#t25424730) on the kink meme.

"Never expected to see one of you here. Don't you all hate our shop or something?" Dean drawled as he dumped a heavy cardboard box on the counter, newly filled to bursting with groceries for one of the home deliveries. He leaned one elbow on the wall siding until the Novak currently wandering his shop finally realised he was being spoken to.

The man sort of jolted a little, then turned swiftly to look at Dean with a piercing stare as if nothing had happened. He slouched in his brown trench coat like a teenager, suit and tie rumpled like they’d never been ironed in their lifetimes. A far cry from the usual pristine outfits that the rest of his family wore, but there was no mistaking those freakishly blue eyes – this man was definitely a Novak.

“No. We do not hate your shop. Is there a reason we should?” he replied blankly while Dean raised one sceptical eyebrow. Was he messing with them? It was no secret that the fancy haute couture bridal wear across the street was actively trying to put them out of business, not to mention all the condescending glares and upturned noses the Novaks shot them at every available opportunity.

“Dunno. Thought we were lowering the tone of the neighbourhood or something.”

“That is not true. People of every walk of life require groceries. I myself like visiting your establishment very much.”

Dean snorted. As far as he knew – and he knew a lot – this guy had never been here in his life. He mentioned as much, and got a bird-like head tilt in reply.

“I realise that, but I hope to visit more often in future.” As if it was completely obvious.

Dean sighed and held out his hand. Gotta be polite to the patrons and all – even if their families _were_ total snobs. “Well, if you’re gonna be a regular from now on, then I guess I’d better introduce myself. The name’s Dean Winchester.”

 “Castiel Novak. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

 

 

Castiel showed up again only a few days later.

"Whoa, how much of this stuff can you eat in a week, dude?" Dean asked as he walked around the shop and picked stuff out for the box. This time Cas came prepared with a list and everything, not just another vague request for 'salad ingredients, if you have any, please’ like the first time they met.

"We did not realise the bride and groom on Wednesday were strictly vegetarian," he answered with a little frown, as though it was a personal failing.

"Thought you guys only did bridal wear, not the whole bridal package deal?"

"To be successful we must be well-versed in every aspect of the marriage ceremony," Castiel reported, sounding like he was reciting from the Bible. Was there a bridal wear Bible? The way the Novaks treated their business, there probably was. And they’d probably written it.

"Okay then. So what’s all this for, this time?"

"I am making a small range of fruit pastries to prove my worth as a baker, so that I may show my family that I can indeed survive outside the wedding industry. After spending the last several years learning the art of cuisine in hundreds of professional classes and earning my qualifications as required, I am certain it is the right path for me and I would like to request their approval and blessing for my decision. In fact, it was the primary motivation for my return to this city."

It sounded like a thoroughly rehearsed speech and okay, Dean might have been a little weirded out but he was also very, very interested.

"Uh, pastry, huh? Pastry like... pie, maybe?" he asked, trying to keep the leer out of his voice. Because oh god, the Novaks might be their neighbourly enemies or something (posh dickheads that they were) but he was still fully capable of salivating at the thought of pie, even when made by one of their many relatives. Delicious, warm, freshly baked pie with crisp pastry and filling that melted on his tongue, and...

"Yes Dean, I -- Dean, are you alright?"

Dean wiped the drool from his mouth and tried to look like he was concentrating on the conversation at hand. "Oh yeah, absolutely, I just zoned out there for a minute. Sorry."

"If you would like, I can bring some for you to try," Castiel suggested, and watched as Dean's mind exploded.

"God yes, could you?" he said before he could stop himself. "I mean, um, thanks. Yeah, that'd be really nice of you."

"I did not study the culinary arts for so long and learn nothing, Dean. I promise you will enjoy it."

Then Castiel disappeared with his groceries again, leaving Dean with a head full of food fantasies and the distinct feeling that he’d just been flirted with. But that might have just been the promise of pie.

 

 

And boy, did Cas fulfil that promise. The very next day he turned up before Dean had even dragged the fruit stands outside, standing outside the door with the same trench coat and a clone of the old suit with a slightly different pattern of wrinkles. Dean saw him standing outside the window first thing in the morning and almost had a heart attack.

“Cas! What the hell are you doing here?” he yelled, pushing the wooden doors open. “We’re not even open yet!”

Cas gave him the most withering look. “I’m not going to bother you, Dean. I only wanted to give you these. _Someone_ should have them.”

Dean instantly felt like an asshole. “Oh. Sorry, yeah, um, thanks. Thanks a lot. Really, Cas.” He could smell the deliciousness now, apple and cherry and perfect golden pastry wafting up from the paper bag Cas shoved towards him. He caught it and buried his face in the top of the bag, inhaling deeply. God, it was perfect. Dean was hungry already, and he’d had breakfast, what, half an hour ago?  

He looked up to thank the miracle baker and stopped. Cas… didn’t look that good. The wide blue death stare was gone, for one thing. He wouldn’t meet Dean’s eyes, instead glaring down at the road like the dusty black tarmac had personally wronged him.

“Uh, you wanna come in?” Dean asked, holding the door open for Cas.

Cas pushed past him wordlessly and slammed his palms down on the table, not facing Dean. His shoulders rose and fell in one deep breath out.

“You okay?” Dean murmured, moving a little closer. He dropped the bag on the counter and ducked his head to meet Cas’ eyes. No such luck; they darted away to stare down a shelf of pineapples.

“You – I – This is stupid. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here. Enjoy your pie.” Castiel pushed him away as he straightened up again and headed back for the door.

“Whoa, hey!” Dean yelped, darting after him. He danced around the door, blocking Cas’ path with flung-out arms. “You can’t just drop angel food on my doorstep and disappear again. Come on, tell me what happened.”

Their eyes finally met. “You wouldn’t care,” Cas stated dryly.

“Try me.”

 

 

They eventually found themselves slouched around a table in the back room, Dean digging into his - frankly huge - stack of God-given freshly made pastry while Cas moped and shook his head at everything Dean nudged towards him on the plate.

"So what, your family just took one look and said no?" Dean let out a sympathetic sigh. "That's damn harsh."

He couldn't really imagine it. When Sam was adamant about going to law school, even Dad had given in in the end. He'd been disappointed, sure, but at least he'd let Sam go. Dean missed his brother like mad but he knew that if it had happened any other way, they wouldn't be on such good terms as they were now. Hell, Sam even came down for hunts sometimes when they coincided with his school breaks. It was as good as anything Dean could ask for.

"My brother in particular also forbade me from leaving home for at least another six months. You could say I've been... press-ganged into further service at the shop," Cas added with the smallest little sigh. His shoulders drooped and he watched Dean chew with what looked like mixed bitterness and longing. "They didn't even taste what I made."

"Well, they're missing out. Seriously, Cas, I'm sorry. That sucks," Dean said. Anyone could see, and taste, the amount of effort Cas poured into this. Every piece of apple was the same perfectly sliced cube, the pastry was baked to strict military standards of golden-brown colouring, and the top of the pie was decorated in the kind of ruler-cut lattice that Dean had previously only dreamed of.

When Cas didn't answer, he added with as much sincerity as he could muster in his voice, "I'm sure they'll come around eventually. One taste of this and you could form entire armies loyal to the death for you, yanno?"

Cas' eyebrows both raised in the 'Dean, you are beyond my comprehension' way he was quickly becoming familiar with. "I'm not sure they would survive my family's stubbornness, regardless of their level of loyalty."

There was kind of an awkward pause while Dean tried to parse exactly how literally Cas had interpreted his words.

Then Cas coughed. "That was a joke."

"Oh." Dean's answering silly grin wasn't fake; he just had no idea how freaking  _adorable_ Cas could be.

The pie was finished now, although there were still four other smaller things in the paper bag - a Danish, a baklava and two little inventions that Dean couldn't name but still wanted to scoff down. One for each sibling, he thought with a pang of sympathy for Cas.

Unfortunately there was only so much that one man could eat, and Cas refused to so much as touch any of his own creations. Time to head out and open the shop, then.

Cas watched him get up from the table with an unhappy wrinkle on his brow, and shuffled his feet under the table. So he didn't really want to go home; Dean could understand that.

"You want to stick around for a little while?" he finally offered after a moment's thought, cramming his hands into his pockets. "I could use some help setting up, if there's nothing else you need to do."

"I would like that, if it won't bother you," Cas answered a smidgen too quickly to sound casual.

"Nah, not at all. Besides, we just got a huge delivery this morning."

And that was how Dean ended up with an outcast Novak in the shop, helping him unpack watermelons.

 

 

When Dad came back to find Cas puttering around the shop, he was furious.

"You know we can't afford to pay an outsider to work here, Dean. You know it's too dangerous," he said, teeth gritted. No yelling yet, at least - not while Cas was still here. "You shouldn't even need one. This place is small enough for you to manage."

"He's not working here," Dean interrupted, "He --"

"And I don't want any of your flings here either!" John cut him off, raised voice making Dean wince. Cas wasn't a  _fling_ , he wasn't even -- but there was no point arguing.

"He had a bad day, that's all. Just a few hours here before he goes back across the road, isn't that okay?" Dean tried.

"Then he's a Novak? That's not making this any better." John shook his head. "I thought you knew better than this, boy. When I finish unpacking, he'd better be gone already. Now go."

"Yes sir."

The conversation was marked as over. Dean scrubbed a hand through his hair and watched John leave, then went to tell Cas the bad news.

Cas wasn't exactly surprised when Dean came to kick him out of the store.

"It's no problem, Dean. I understand. You have a business to run and, truth be told, I  _am_ supposed to be looking after the ballgown and empire aisles right now."

The ballgown and  _what_ aisles? Dean decided not to ask.

Despite Cas’ very gracious acceptance of Dad being kind of a dick, the sad downturn of the corners of his mouth gave him away. Of _course_ he didn’t want to go home yet; his family had more-or-less casually rejected everything he’d planned for the future only last night, after all. And after he’d spent what was probably _hours_ trying to please them by showing off all his hard-earned culinary talent.

Dean didn’t exactly feel like the knight in shining armour any more.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, “How about we meet up tonight, after we’re both done with work? You close at five on weekdays too, right?”

Cas nodded, curiosity piqued. “I… Yes.”

“Then why don’t I take you out for dinner and cheer you up a little? You look like someone kicked your puppy, you know. Plus, I know this great place with the world’s best burgers and fries, just down the highway. It’ll be my treat.”

The way Cas’ eyes lit up made Dean’s day. “That would be wonderful.”

“That’s great.” Dean clapped him on the shoulder, friendly, then swallowed before he just came out and said the fatal words sitting on his tongue. “It’s a date.” Nice and casual, nothing wrong with that. If Cas threw it in his face, and couldn’t take a joke, then fine. Dean wouldn’t care.

But Cas only smiled wider.

Dean carried the sight of it around with him all day, humming Metallica and unpacking strawberry punnets in the best mood he’d been in for weeks.


	2. Than twenty of their swords

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: The chapter divisions were a little too choppy for me so I added a fairly sizable chunk to the end of Chapter 1. So if this new part makes no sense to you, it might help to read that one again? Sorry for the mess.

 

When five o’clock finally rolled around that afternoon, Dean dashed out the door the second the last vegetable stand had been packed away.

But the sight that met him when he approached the door of the bridal wear shop was _definitely_ not Castiel.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Dean scoffed, incredulous, at the all-star lineup of his favourite Novaks currently blocking the way. From left to right, Gabriel, Uriel and Naomi stood in immaculate suits with arms crossed like a pack of bouncers. Or maybe the Mafia. Either way, it was impressive they weren’t all wearing sunglasses in the evening light, just to complete the look.

“You’ve been a bad influence on our brother, Dean Winchester,” Uriel spoke first. “We know he’s been with you.”

“It’s none of your goddamn business who Cas hangs out with. He’s a grown man, isn’t he?” Dean sneered.

From the side, Naomi shook her head, looking for all the world as if Dean was a particularly wilfully stupid child. “We take care of family here, which means we look out for each other. And that includes when they’re mixing with the… wrong crowd.” The scornful glance down her nose at Dean made him itch to start a fight.

“You mean, looking out for each other like how you’re trying to ruin his life and indoctrinate him back into your weird-ass wedding party cult?” Dean could see the memory of Cas, disappointed and beaten-down by whatever they’d said to him last night, clear as day. It infuriated him.

Gabriel, who’d seemed content to suck on his lollipop and laugh at the proceedings until now, suddenly snarled at him. “You wouldn’t understand a thing about it, Winchester.”

“Yeah? I don’t think there’s a lot to understand. You’re a bunch of uppity assholes who stitch together a few things for the rich crowd and reckon that makes you better than everyone. Well, I’ve got news for you. We’re no different, you and me. And I’m not gonna let you brainwash Cas into thinking his entire life has to be under your thumbs forever.”

He knew it was weird to get so caught up with Cas’ circumstances so soon, but he _liked_ the nerdy tax-accountant baker, damn it. And he was so sick of the Novak Mafia squashing Cas’ ambitions down like that. It didn’t take a goddamn genius to know this sort of thing with the pies and the cooking had happened before – it was all written out in the soft, resigned lines of Cas’ frown that morning, and the way his anger had played out as defeat rather than shock. Dean could only imagine what sort of stuff went on in that family’s household.

Naomi’s face pinched into a scowl. “There’s no need for such melodrama. We’ve already told you, Dean, you wouldn’t understand. This is our family’s business and you would do well to keep your nose out of it. It has nothing to do with you. And I hope for your sake that you don’t try to make another… _appointment_ with Castiel. We have quite enough to deal with, without the trouble you cause too. This conversation is finished.”

“At least the youngest Winchester had the right idea, getting out of that shack of yours while he had the chance,” Uriel spat, one final insult before he turned on his heel to follow the others.

Oh no, that was the last straw.

Dean swung the first blow, and a brawl broke out.

 

 

That night, he lay alone in his room, with only a pack of frozen peas pressed to his cheek and a mood as a dark as a stormcloud hanging over his head for company. She didn’t look like it, but Naomi could really pack a punch.

He wondered what Cas was doing right now. Probably wondering why Dean never showed up for their evening out together. Or maybe his family had locked him in the basement for the night as punishment for fraternising with the enemy. Hell if Dean knew. Anything was possible with that group of nutcases, he thought with a spark of satisfaction at his own petty meanness.

That was when he heard a knock on the window.

“Jesus Christ,” he swore when he got over his shock. When he padded over to the curtains and drew them apart to find Cas’ pale face staring at him in the moonlight, he almost had another heart attack.

“Are you trying to kill me?” was the first thing he demanded after he slid the window open, far enough for Cas to elbow his way into the room and flop onto Dean’s carpet like a bizarrely graceful dead fish. Too late, he realised the line of salt across the sill was still there, but luckily Cas didn’t seem to notice that his clothes were suddenly covered in the stuff the moment he entered Dean’s room.

The way Cas’ nose wrinkled at him told him that the joke wasn’t appreciated this time. “I saw certain members of my family accost you outside the store this afternoon. If you don’t like me checking up on your state of health, I can leave if you like.”

“I’m fine. I can hold my own in a fight, you know.”

Cas gestured at the frozen peas Dean still held to his face. “I can see that.”

Dean grunted. “Ugh, whatever.” He liked a bit of self-pity when it came to bumps and bruises like this, okay? Who was Cas to judge him?

Besides, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t suffered much worse on all the hunts he’d been on since childhood. But he couldn’t tell Cas that. No way in hell.

“Let me see your face,” Cas demanded, hands reaching to pry the peas away from Dean’s cheek.

“It’s not that bad. Leave it alone.” Dean batted him away.

“I can help fix it.” He was insistent, face scrunched into a look of utter determination. As if glaring at the purple-blue skin with enough willpower would miraculously turn it back to normal.

“No you can’t, it’s just gotta go away on its own. I do know how to take care of a bruise, Cas,” Dean retorted, half-teasing. Then he got an idea, and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “But you could take care of me in other ways if you want, hm?”

Cas frowned at him, and Dean tried to stop himself from gulping in worry. No big deal yet, he told himself. It was the kind of statement that he could easily turn into a completely heterosexual joke if he needed to. He still hadn’t scoped out Cas’ feelings on the whole matter yet, or if he even swung that way in the first place. It would be just his luck to discover that the one Novak that wasn’t a total ass, and was in fact kind of _hot_ , was actually really prone to gay panic.

But nothing happened. All Cas did was look at him a little funny and murmur, “So you were serious about the date.”

Dean’s voice dropped to a low mumble. “Well, it’s up to you. I get it if you don’t like that sort of thing, I’m not gonna push you into it or anything.”

To his utter surprise, Cas suddenly pushed his face up about an inch from Dean’s nose.

“No,” Cas said with earth-shattering certainty. “I do like ‘that sort of thing’.”

Oh. Well, Dean could definitely roll with this.

He didn’t know what happened next. Maybe Cas had started in first, or maybe they’d gone for it at the same time. But a second later, their lips met, and Dean could taste the chapped, soft mouth against his. There was a brush of stubble against stubble, the almost awkward knock of nose against nose and chin against chin before they sorted themselves out. Even with mouths closed and only the press of dry lips together, it didn’t take long for him to melt into the kiss.

It was chaste, barely a peck by Dean’s standards before they drew away and all he could see were those soul-staring eyes, almost glowing in the dim light.

Then he dove back in, and it was not at all chaste after that.


End file.
